


Piano Man

by Styx_in_the_mud



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, But Not Much, Emotional Whump, F/M, Gen, Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Styx_in_the_mud/pseuds/Styx_in_the_mud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He said son can you play me a memory, I'm not really sure how it goes, </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <em>but it's sad and it's sweet, and I knew it complete, when I wore a younger man's clothes</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Piano Man

**Author's Note:**

> I needed some angst to get me through the week. Takes place after Angels take Manhattan. Title and summary from the Billy Joel song of the same name.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about this particular pub- bar, he was in America, might as well try to fit in, even if it was in his own head- but something about it that attracted him. It was unnerving, because frankly when he was drawn inexplicably to something (or someone), it never ended well for anybody. Which was why he was here wasn't it? Because everything had gone to pieces again. They were gone, Amy and Rory, his best friends, and he was wracked with guilt. If he had just paid a bit more attention, the angel would never have gotten to Rory, kind, loyal Rory. And he wouldn't have lost them. At least Amy had been able to say her farewells ("Raggedy man, goodbye" those words echoed through his dreams, even now, weeks after she'd said them) but poor Rory had never had the chance. He felt sick. If they had never met him, they'd still be in Leadworth, happy, maybe with a small family of their own, not trapped in New York circa 1950. He still wasn't sure what to tell Brian, the man who had trusted him to take care of his son and daughter-in-law. The man he had failed. He hadn't had the nerve to face him; actually he hadn't had the nerve to even leave New York, as though staying in the city was enough to miraculously bring them back. He stared despondently at the tumbler of whiskey in front of him. The last time he'd had alcohol, he was wearing a different face (he hadn't had time during Amy and Rory's wedding, and they never did get around to drinking Napoleon's wine...) and even then, in the over 1000 years that he'd been alive, there had never been a time he'd resorted to hard liquor, preferring to deal with troubling situations by jumping head first into the next big adventure. Somehow, this felt more appropriate. He picked up his glass and took a long swallow, and for the first time since he'd walked into the bar, he looked around.

It wasn't the sleekest of places, all worn wood and dark blue velvet, but it was clean and had its own charm. The small place had a few tables scattered around the room, and a few booths attached to the wall. The bottles behind the bar were arranged neatly, labels facing outwards, glinting in the low amber light, their contents varied. The counter where he was sitting at looked like it had seen better days, varnish slightly chipped, covered with nicks, and sporting a couple of scorch marks. There was a piano in the corner, which looked a little too big to be in such a small place. He decided he liked it, the little bar; it reminded him a bit of the TARDIS.

He turned back to his drink, and was about to take a sip when he noticed a young man in a baseball cap walking over to the piano. He turned to stare. The man seemed to notice his eyes trailing him, and smiled directly at him, tipping his cap in his direction. Then he began to play. The tune wasn't one he knew, but it seemed familiar all the same. It reminded him of how it used to be when the three of them travelled. He remembered Amy's laugh and Rory's shy smile. He remembered Amy's unbridled enthusiasm and Rory's silent awe. Most of all, he remembered how they used to sit together sometimes, on whatever planet they happened to be on, when there were no aliens, monsters, or foreign dignitaries chasing them. He would be tinkering with some new toy, Amy would be teasing him, and Rory would be pretending to read, but in reality, he was watching his wife with a soft smile on his face. It was too much, and for the first time after they were gone, after River had finally left as well, promising "I'll see you again soon, sweetie", he cried silently, big, hot tears running down his cheeks as the man continued to play.

As the last note faded away, he wiped his eyes, running a tired hand over his face, before downing the rest of his drink in a single swallow, leaving some money on the counter and walking out. As the door shut behind him he could hear the man begin a new tune, slower, darker. He'd had enough of this city; he figured it was time to head back to Brittan. He couldn't go back to Leadworth, not yet. Maybe London, he'd always liked the Victorian era. They'd had excellent taste in hats back then...

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are appreciated,


End file.
